A Tea Break with History: My Encounter with Narendra Damodardas Modi



The early morning fog in Varanasi doesn't just obscure the view; it silences the world. Standing near Assi Ghat, with the Ganga flowing quietly beside me, I felt a strange sense of solitude despite the city waking up around me.

I was at an old, weathered tea stall, the kind that has stood there longer than the buildings around it. I was scrolling through my phone, reading headlines about global summits and stock markets, feeling incredibly small in the grand scheme of things.

Then, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't the noise of a siren or the rush of a crowd. It was a sudden, organized stillness.

Three black SUVs pulled up a hundred meters away. Men in sharp suits—the Special Protection Group—fanned out with practiced precision. I expected them to clear the area. Instead, a man stepped out of the center vehicle, waved them back slightly, and began walking toward the river.

He wore a simple kurta and a shawl wrapped against the chill. He walked with a purpose that felt familiar, yet singular.

It was him.

Narendra Damodardas Modi.

The name carried a weight in my mind that the simple "Modi" headlines often missed. Here was the man who had journeyed from a tea stall in Vadnagar to the absolute center of global power. Seeing him here, returning to the simplicity of a riverbank morning, was surreal.

He stopped at the stall. The vendor, an old man with hands worn by decades of work, dropped his ladle.

"Pranam, Kaka," the Prime Minister said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Adrak wali chai milegi?" (Will I get ginger tea?)

He turned and saw me standing there, frozen, phone halfway to my pocket.

"Aapkele hain? (Are you alone?)" he asked.

"Ji... Yes, Sir," I stammered.

"Then join me. Tea tastes better with conversation."

I sat down on a plastic stool across from the leader of 1.4 billion people. Up close, you don't see the politician; you see the eyes. They were sharp, observant, yet tired in a way that spoke of long nights and heavy burdens.

"You know," he said, holding the clay kulhad with both hands, savoring the warmth. "People often ask me about the pressure. About the weight of the name—Narendra Damodardas Modi. They think power is about commanding."

He took a sip and looked at the river. "But power is actually about enduring. It is about 'Seva'—service. When I sold tea as a boy, my job was to serve the customer. Now, my job is to serve the nation. The scale has changed, but the 'Dharma' (duty) is the same."

I found my voice. "But Sir, doesn't it get lonely? The criticism, the expectations?"

He smiled, a genuine expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Loneliness is for those who live for themselves. When you live for 140 crore family members, you are never lonely. You are just... occupied."

He leaned forward, his demeanor shifting from reflective to intense. "What about you? What is your 'Seva'? Not your job, not your career. What do you do that is bigger than yourself?"

The question floored me. I realized I had been so focused on becoming something that I hadn't thought about serving anyone.

"I... I'm still figuring that out, Sir," I admitted.

"Good," he nodded firmly. "Figure it out. The youth of this country—my Gen Z, my millennials—you have fire. But fire without direction just burns. Fire with direction becomes a torch. Be a torch."

He finished his tea in silence, allowing the words to settle. Then, he stood up. The spell broke. The security detail tightened their formation.

"Thank you for the tea," he said to me, as if I were the host. "And remember, the name on your ID card is just a label. What you do with your hands and your heart... that is your identity."

He walked away, back into the bubble of security, back to being the Prime Minister.

I sat there for a long time. The tea in my cup had gone cold, but I didn't care. I realized I hadn't just met a politician. I had met a man who understood that the distance between a tea seller and a Prime Minister wasn't defined by fate, but by the relentless pursuit of duty.

I stood up, paid for both teas, and walked away. I had a lot of thinking to do.

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